On Attempted Declarations of Love
by carnifax
Summary: RoyGarth/SpAqua. "It would've been so much easier if he had done what he was supposed to do, like everyone in books and movies do when they find out their friend, teammate, sometimes even their rival, was in love with them."


**On Attempted Declarations of Love**

By Carnifax  
Teen Titans  
Roy/Garth  
Rated T  
Romance/Angst  
_It would've been so much easier if he had done what he was supposed to do, like everyone in books and movies do when they find out their friend, teammate, sometimes even their rival, was in love with them._

This is probably what you think it is… Not that that makes sense to any of you. (Oh well.)

And this isn't happy, but it isn't depressing. It's open-ended, I guess. Carni's "Make-Your-Own-Ending" one-shot, heh heh.

* * *

It would've been so much fucking easier if he had done what he was supposed to do, like everyone in books and movies do when they find out their friend, teammate, sometimes even their rival, was in love with them. But there was no flashing lightning, no fancy camerawork, not even the sentimental climax to an orchestra playing softly in the background. There was no kiss, no hug, no realizations of what we've been hiding from each other, both of us stuck in our own little bubbles of self-hatred.

Garth, the bastard, didn't even seem concerned by it. He was confused, and he admitted it, but it wasn't the movie-confusion where he considers the emotions he feels for me—it was the honest confusion of a "What the _fuck_, Roy?"-kind of moment. And he admitted that, too, very bluntly; typical of an Atlantean prince. Only, as a prince, he didn't swear.

I don't even think I swore that day, but it's such a blur that, hell, I could've bought a strip joint in Haiti and wouldn't remember.

He didn't apologize, either, which wasn't normal Garth behavior. His eyes swirled that thoughtful, stormy black and his face tinged pink, but there was no apology.

He said he'd joked about it before—what macho guy _doesn't_ joke about being gay with his friends?—but never considered it would actually happen. And then, as a complete reversal, he said that he'd had suspicions, like he knew it was coming.

But suspicions about _what_? Roy Harper does _not_ stare adoringly at people—if anything, the people I like are more liable to hate me than the people I _dis_like—and I've _never_, under _any_ circumstances, suggested _physically_ that I was interested in Garth.

Except that one time when we were training and Garth became disoriented, and I may have been over-the-top with my inspection of the Atlantean's body. But hey, Karen would've molested him just as much—maybe even more—if _she_ had been there when Garth started feeling weak.

Maybe that was it, then. Maybe I didn't touch him _enough_. Maybe I put up boundaries with him that no one else needed, because I was scared he'd find out. Because if he found out, I'd have to face the truth and we'd both have to decide what the hell everything meant, and that'd be tantamount to repeatedly poking myself in the eye.

After I told him, everything I did felt like some seduction technique. It didn't matter if it was just a playful slap on the shoulder after a round of sparring, or even if I handed him the saltshaker at dinner. We'd make eye contact and the moment would last fucking forever for me, while for him it probably was just a glance.

And god, it hurt. The whole pretend-like-it-never-happened thing—that _hurt_. Even when, months later, he finally grew balls and asked me about it, it fucking _hurt_ because it was as if we were talking about a provoking movie, or one of those make-you-think-about-life articles in _Time_ with some starving, homeless, selfless woman.

'_The weather looks like it'll be nice today… But hey, you've been pining over me for two years? Weird. And, oh yeah—did you do the dishes yet? It's your day to do them.'_

Thanks for caring. I mean, it's not like I put my soul on the line just to get attention—I just figured I'd at _least_ merit _some_ emotion, maybe anger or frustration or pity. But… no, none. Nada, zip, ze-ro.

'_Oh, you love me? That's cool, I guess. Hey, get me a Pepsi, while you're up.'_

And then came the other questions, the one that sprung up just because he needed to hear good things about himself. As if that haughty, gorgeous smirk Garth wears isn't fueled with enough ego, he needed a boost from my personal problems, which I gotta say, felt pretty damn shitty to me. I'm only drowning in manly tears over here and you're, what, getting some self-esteem from it? Thanks Garth, seriously, I fucking appreciate the concern.

They were questions like "What did you _see_ in me?" because he's never had a girlfriend and doesn't understand what the hell is so fucking _perfect_ about him, and they were questions like "How do you feel about me _now_?" to which I kept silent. The silence, however, meant that at that moment I felt like tearing my chest apart with frustration and disappointment while screeching and bawling about how I loved him then, love him now and will continue to love him until one of us dies. But even then, I'd keep loving him because the amount of love reciprocated wouldn't have changed.

In fact, it might even be possible that he would love me more if I died. Note to self: Die and be posthumously loved, 'cause that's all you're gonna get. Sorry.

Maybe the vain hope comes from the fact that he hasn't told me off yet. He hasn't actually told me he _wasn't_ interested, which either means that he thinks I'm over him, or… or that he _is_ interested, and he's just afraid to bring it up again in case it makes him look foolish. Tch, as if it was _possible_ to make him look foolish.

Then again, _I_ never properly asked _him_ out. When I told him, it was like confessing a sin—"I'm really fucking sorry, Garth, but I love you."—and maybe that's where it ended. Maybe it seemed like I didn't want it, that I was an unwilling participant in my heart's cruel, frantic games. If someone told me they loved me and apologized for it, and they had told me like I told Garth, _I_ would assume they didn't want those feelings.

But _damn_, if that's what he's thinking, there will never be a chance for me. Maybe… maybe right now, he's thinking the exact same thing, musing over what could've been between us, "if only Roy hadn't apologized." If only I hadn't been sentimental, we could be dating. Then again, if I hadn't been sentimental, I wouldn't have fallen in love with him.

Maybe I'll ask him out properly, just to make sure everything's on the table for him to see… _Maybe_. That's still too big a risk to take lightly—even if the worst he can say is no, that tiny word might just be too painful for even me, the kickass superhero hunk. I guess… I guess I won't know until I try.

* * *

I like contemplative fics. They make me obscenely happy.

Reviewww, because it feels like RoyGarth is a dying thing...


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